


there is a bridge over a river, and some days, it is lovely

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Depression, Getting Back Together, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Break Up, canon compliant injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 04:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14229543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: “What are you doing here?” Mikey asks, trying and failing not to stare, but Nate’s staring right back, like he’s also not sure what’s going on.“I figured I’d meet you here,” Nate says. “Put a familiar face on the Binghamton welcoming committee.”Mikey looks around. “There’s no one else here.”“Well, it was either a familiar face or no face,” Nate says with an uncertain smile, like he’s not quite sure he’s allowed to make a joke.





	there is a bridge over a river, and some days, it is lovely

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%.
> 
> Thanks to Rachel, Hailey, Tempe, Esen, Ali, and Ash for beta reading this and offering wonderful and thoughtful feedback. 
> 
> Detailed warnings in the endnotes. Please stay safe reading this <3

 

_ april _

Mikey doesn’t really know what to do when he sees Nate at the airport in Binghamton. 

It’s not like he wasn’t expecting to see him at all; they’re teammates, and like, Mikey has a few unopened texts from him sitting on his phone, but he just got knocked out of the playoffs, and he’s stepping off a plane, and he’s not really prepared to see Nate yet. 

Nate’s wearing the same jeans he’d worn last time Mikey had seen him, still has those dimples, and he’s bigger now, like people tend to be when you go long periods without seeing them, but he’s still—he’s  _ Nate.  _ Freakishly tall, not-great skin, an easy smile on his face, and it’s so fucking weird, because he’s different in a million little ways, wearing a hat Mikey’s never seen before over his too-long hair, but he’s so clearly the exact same guy Mikey’s known for years, who’s been his best friend for most of that time, who carved out a place for himself in Mikey’s heart so long ago that the edges have become smooth with wear, like it’s sea glass, or something. 

Mikey has no idea what he’s feeling right now.

He goes up to Nate, not quite sure any of this is real, but then he sees Nate’s shoulders stiffen as he gets closer. 

Right. Yeah. That’s not something Mikey would imagine, and it’s a little more in line with reality.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, trying and failing not to stare, but Nate’s staring right back, like he’s also not sure what’s going on. 

“I figured I’d meet you here,” Nate says. “Put a familiar face on the Binghamton welcoming committee.” 

Mikey looks around. “There’s no one else here.” 

“Well, it was either a familiar face or no face,” Nate says with an uncertain smile, like he’s not quite sure he’s allowed to make a joke. 

Mikey lets out a breathy noise that he thinks could be a laugh. “Um, okay, then. Thank you.” 

“Of course,” Nate says, and the way it’s a little too soft fucking  _ stings, _ and for a second, it’s November again, and the pain is fresh, and every familiar thing that use to bring him comfort is weird, now, like it doesn’t quite fit, except instead of Mississauga, it’s Nate who’s different and the same at once.

Not that Mikey’s issues with being back in Missy hadn’t been about Nate. 

A lot of Mikey’s problems have been about Nate, for the last few months. He tries not to think about it too much. 

“So,” Mikey says, looking very quickly at the floor, because his chest is starting to feel tight, “you drive here?” 

“Yeah,” Nate says.

“Cool,” Mikey says, “Let’s, uh, head to your car, I guess.” 

“Did you not check any bags?” 

Mikey shakes his head. “They flew me out pretty quick. Most of my stuff’s being shipped to the hotel.” 

“Hotel?” 

“Yeah,” Mikey says. “I mean, I’m only here for a few more weeks.”

“Right,” Nate says. “No, yeah, that makes sense.” 

“So I guess you can just… drop me there?” 

“What’s the hotel?” Nate asks. 

Mikey shrugs. “The Holiday Inn, I think? It’s downtown.”

“The one right by the rink?” Nate asks. 

“I think so?” Mikey asks. “Let me check, I have the address written down.” 

He opens his iPhone notes, and hopes Nate doesn’t see how many of them start with his name. He’s probably not even looking, but Mikey’s a little paranoid, whatever. 

“Here,” Mikey says, holding his phone up. 

“Yeah, I know where that is,” Nate says. “That’s, like, right by the arena.” 

“Cool,” Mikey says. “Short commute, I guess.” 

“Yeah, I—uh, I can, like, show you around downtown, if you want,” Nate says. “Maybe we could get dinner, or…” his voice trails off, and then he shrugs. “I dunno. Just an idea.”

“Oh,” Mikey says. “Uh, maybe.” 

“Yeah, just, let me know,” Nate says. 

There’s a stretch of awkward silence, and it makes Mikey feel kind of nauseous, so he breaks it. “So, your car?” 

“My car,” Nate says quickly. “Yeah, let’s head there. Do you need help carrying anything?” 

Mikey’s bag is actually kind of heavy, but he just says, “Nah, I’m good,” and hoists it higher on his shoulder. 

…… 

_ january _

Mikey is already definitively wasted when Nate arrives, and it’s the first time he’s seen him in forever, so maybe that’s why he forgets about everything, for a second, and makes a beeline for him the second he sees him. 

“Dude, I did not know you were coming through tonight,” he says, pulling him in for an easy bro hug. 

“Of course,” Nate says, and Mikey thinks he sounds a little surprised. “I wasn’t gonna not say hi to my boys.” 

“I’m here too, in case you cared,” Alex says from behind Mikey, and Mikey lets go of Nate to hug him. 

“Of course I care,” Mikey says. “How could you doubt that I care? That’s like doubting the trout, which is illegal by the Lorne Park ball hockey bylaws, or something.” He waves a hand. “Whatever, I can say whatever I want, Dyls isn’t here.” 

“Aren’t there other Stromes or McLeods running around?” Nate asks. 

“Ryan and Matt are off somewhere being weird.”

“Which Ryan and Matt?”

“The younger ones,” Mikey says. “The ones who aren’t at college or in, like, Edmonton.” 

“I don’t know who’s doing what and where,” Nate says. “Aight, I’m gonna go find Ry.” 

“Sweet, see you around,” Mikey says, and his eyes linger on Nate as he walks away. 

Alex coughs. “So.” 

“What?” Mikey says.

“I mean,” Alex says, then nods his head in the direction Nate had gone. “Is everything good there, now?” 

Mikey blinks, and says, “It’s Nate,” because that should be enough of an answer. Things are always good with Nate. 

“Alright, just—last I heard, you’ve had him on read since fall,” Alex says. 

The words hit Mikey like ice, and he feels soberer and dizzier at the same time, but he tries to cover it up. “Well, clearly your news is out of date.”

“He told me this on the drive over.”

“Okay, then,” Mikey says, putting his hands up. “Whatever, I’m bad at texting.” 

“Really,” Alex says, skeptical.

“Yes,” Mikey says, probably a little sharper than he would if it was actually the easy denial he was going for. “Don’t worry, things are fine, now.”

“If you say so,” Alex says. 

“I do,” Mikey says, and it’s not something he’s felt before, but, like—honestly? He kind of believes it. 

Like, Mikey and Nate just had a nice conversation. Mikey had been  _ happy  _ to see him, not angry or mad, and sure, he’d forgotten about all the shit that had gone down between them, temporarily, but he remembers now, and, like, he’s still happy that Nate’s here. Maybe Mikey’s moved on, and so has Nate, and time and distance have made them ready to be best friends again. 

It’s an illusion Mikey clings to for the rest of the evening, until all the regrettable Insta photos have been posted and high-fives have been exchanged and Mikey’s been touching Nate without stopping for the last hour, which is an old game of theirs, one they haven’t played in a while. 

There’s no real reason it should hit Mikey when it does. It’s just, like, one second, he’s looking at Nate’s smile, and everything is fine, and then he blinks, and suddenly, he’s looking at Nate’s smile and the world around it is melting away and Mikey can’t fucking  _ breathe,  _ anymore, because Nate is  _ smiling, _ like that’s a thing he still does around Mikey, and Mikey’s enjoying it, like Nate’s smile is still something he’s allowed to enjoy. 

“I don’t feel well,” he says, stepping away from Nate and trying not to look like it’s because he’s afraid to touch him. “I need some air.” 

And the way Nate looks at him—it’s  _ cruel,  _ is what it is, immediately full of attentiveness and concern and so much fucking love, a kind of love that hasn’t been Mikey’s for months, and will never be Mikey’s again. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

Mikey wants to say  _ yes,  _ but it’s fucking impossible. “No, no I’m not okay, what the—” 

And then Nate’s in his space, and Mikey practically jumps away, and he can see it, the instant Nate realizes what’s going on. 

His entire face falls, and Mikey wishes it felt like relief, but really, it just feels empty.

“Oh,” Nate says. “Shit, I’m sorry—” 

“I need to leave,” Mikey says, and then he shakes his head. “No, this is my house, you need to leave—” 

“I will, just give me a sec,” Nate says. 

“Please,” Mikey says, closing his eyes to stop tears from falling. “God, wow, I don’t know why I thought I could do this.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Nate says. “I’m calling an Uber.” 

“Why did you come in the first place?” Mikey asks. “Why didn’t anyone give me a heads up—” 

“I thought it would be okay,” Nate says. “But—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.” 

“Yeah, you really shouldn’t have,” Mikey says. 

“Is there anything I can do? Before I leave?” 

Mikey wants to say  _ no,  _ and he wants to get angry, but he doesn’t think that would turn out well. “Get Ryan.”

“Got it,” Nate says. “Do you know where—”

“No, I don’t, just—get Ryan, please.”

“Okay,” Nate says, too soft, and Mikey’s breath catches. 

He doesn’t know if his crying is what makes Nate finally leave, or if he managed to hold out until Nate was gone, but once he knows he’s alone, he lets it out, these awful, choked sobs that he doesn’t have enough air in his lungs for. The room feels too small and his body doesn’t feel like his own, and he doesn’t know if he’s drunk or dying or what, but it’s like he’s not even a person anymore, like he can’t do anything but curl up in this useless, pathetic ball in his empty basement and hope no one comes down here and sees him like this. 

“Mikey?” a gentle voice says, and it’s not Ryan, but it’s not Nate either. 

“Hey, Matty,” Mikey tries to say, but he can’t really form the words. 

“It’s okay if you can’t talk,” Matty says, sitting down next to him. “Ry told me to find you.” 

Mikey doesn’t deserve his younger brother, probably. “I—I don’t—” 

“It’s okay,” Matty says, and Mikey can tell he’s trying to sound soothing, like a yoga teacher, or something. “This kind of thing happens to Dylan sometimes. Can I touch you?” 

Mikey nods, and lets Matty rub calming circles on his back. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says. “It’ll be okay.” 

Mikey doubts that, but Matty’s being helpful, so Mikey figures he might as well try to meet him halfway. 

“How about you try to breathe with me.”

He counts to three twice, and Mikey inhales and exhales shakily, and it doesn’t really feel like he’s accomplished much, but Matty tells him he’s doing a good job, and they do it again. 

That’s how Ryan finds them later, still breathing, this time on longer counts, and Mikey’s still pretty drunk, but at least the air is going in and out of his lungs easier. 

“Hey,” Ryan says. “He’s gone.” 

Mikey nods. “Thanks,” he says, his voice raspy. 

“How are you?” Ryan asks. 

Mikey glances at Matty, gives him a small smile. “Well, I have a new favorite Strome.” 

Matty grins back at him. “I’ll let Dylan know.” 

“Dylan’s lucky to have you as a brother,” Mikey says, then he turns to Ryan. “I’m officially on Mom’s side of this, marry him. He’d be a great brother in law.” 

Ryan rolls his eyes. “If it’s really that important to you, you can marry Dylan.” 

“I thought he and Davo were back on.” 

“Are they? I can’t keep track,” Ryan says. 

“They are,” Matty confirms. “S’okay, though, I won’t wait around for a proposal.” 

Ryan blushes at that, but he and Matty just look at each other fondly for a second, and Mikey realizes, for the first time, that there’s maybe something going on here he hadn’t known about. 

A part of him thinks he should warn them, should let them know that falling for your best friend, and falling in love with your best friend, feels like the best thing in the world until it’s not, and when it ends, you’ll feel worse than you ever thought they could make you feel. He wants to tell them to be careful, because when it’s all smiles and butterflies, the worst part of it is the nerves, and while the nerves suck, they’re nothing compared to the pure hopelessness of watching that person walk out of your life, knowing you’ll never be able to shake the heartbreak. 

But, at the same time, this is Ryan and Matty, and it just feels too right. The Stromes really are family, honestly, and Matty and Ryan have always liked each other more than anyone else, and if they decide that this is what that means, Mikey can’t help but be happy for them.   

He’ll do his best to not let them break each other’s hearts, though. No one should have to go through that. 

…… 

_ april  _

The Holiday Inn in Binghamton, New York is, surprisingly, not the worst place in the world. 

It’s a ten minute walk from the rink, and truly in the heart of downtown, and if the weather were better, Mikey would probably go for a stroll, just to get to know the area. As it stands, though, he’s cold and tired and pretty hype to kick back and relax. 

It’s nice, that he has a day before he has to report to the rink, and he manages to kill a couple of hours on Netflix. He dozes off for an hour watching  _ The Office  _ for the thousandth time, and when he wakes up, he feels weird and off-kilter, which sometimes happens when he falls asleep by accident, but is never pleasant, and is especially unpleasant in a hotel room in an unfamiliar city. 

He lies there for a second, gathering the bearings he can, and when he remembers all of it—the end of his OHL career, the weird numb happiness he felt as he boarded the plane to Binghamton, Nate driving him here, awkwardly rambling about the radio selection up here as Mikey tried not to feel too strange about being back in Nate’s same car. 

He pushes that out of his mind, because thinking about that won’t help his current state. 

Instead, he thinks about what he wants, which is to feel normal, and also, dinner. His first instinct is to text Nate about restaurants, and that doesn’t make much sense, because things with Nate are definitively weird, but also, not texting Nate feels weird. He’s the only one Mikey knows well enough to text in Binghamton, and not texting him feels about as strange as texting him, so Mikey’s not really sure if there’s an obvious smart decision to be made here, which means he goes with his gut.

_ hey,  _ he sends, and then,  _ offer to show me around bingo still stand?  _

_ yeah ofc,  _ Nate replies quickly. 

_ idk what good places for dinner r lol,  _ Mikey says. 

_ i can show u :),  _ Nate sends back, and Mikey smiles at the emoticon for a second before he remembers that Nate isn’t his, anymore. 

It’s not a fun reminder, but he doesn’t feel like he can’t breathe, which is as much as he can hope for.

…… 

_ december  _

“Hey,” Taylor says, “Bastian coming again this year?” 

Mikey freezes at the mention of Nate’s name. “I dunno,” he says, trying to sound normal. 

“Seriously? I figured you guys would have a whole plan,” Taylor says. “Last year—” 

“This year’s different,” Mikey says, because damn if it isn’t true. Last year had been about winning at home and doing it for Dylan, and there was a group of returners who cared and felt like they had something to prove. This year they’re a good team—a great one—with no star power, and Mikey’s still recovering from his stupid fucking knee injury, which he has less and less patience for with each passing day. 

“Oh,” Taylor says, hearing the anger in Mikey’s voice. “I hadn’t realized.” 

Mikey shrugs, defeated. “It’s whatever.” 

“I’m sorry,” Taylor says. 

“It’s been a month,” Mikey says. “Still kinda fresh. I’ll get over it, eventually.”  

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“Not really.” 

“Alright,” Taylor says. “Well—I’m here, I guess.” 

“Thanks,” Mikey says honestly. “It’s fine, I’ll just focus on the tourney.” 

“I like the sound of that,” Taylor says. “Let’s try to have fun and win some gold.” 

“Have fun?” Mikey says, smiling a bit. “What would Stromer think of that one?”

“Depends on Connor McDavid’s mood that day,” Taylor says, not missing a beat. “But, no, actually—that’s his advice. His big regret from last year, I guess.” 

“Not having enough fun?” 

“Too much pressure,” Taylor says. “And that’s not his fault, but—it’s Buffalo, y’know? America’s the one with a title to maintain, I don’t think people’s expectations are as high.” 

“That’s… kinda bleak,” Mikey says. 

“It’s the truth,” Taylor says. “Might as well use that to our advantage.” 

Mikey considers that for a second. “Yeah, alright,” he says. “Let’s have some fun.” 

The smile he gives Taylor feels like the most genuine one he’s had to offer in months, so. 

That’s something, at least. 

…… 

_ april  _

“So obviously we’re going to get sushi,” Nate says, as Mikey climbs into his car. 

“Obviously?” 

“Obviously,” Nate repeats, and gives Mikey a grin that breaks his heart, a little. 

“Is this a trout joke?” 

“Oh, totally.” 

Mikey reluctantly smiles. “Okay, fine,” he says. “For the team.” 

“It was a fight to the finish,” Nate says. 

Mikey snorts. “We lost our last game 8-2.” 

“You took Barrie to game 6,” Nate says. “And they’re kind of on fire.” 

“You still keep up with the O?” Mikey says, a little surprised. 

“Of course,” Nate says. “I watched pretty much every Missy game I could.” 

“That’s some dedication to your roots,” Mikey says. 

“It wasn’t just a loyalty thing,” Nate says. “I—y’know. You guys still mean a lot to me.” 

It hangs there, for a second, this heavy thing that neither of them really knows what to do with. 

“The boys say hi,” Mikey says, even though they hadn’t explicitly told him so, because people know better than to mention Nate around him. 

“I say hi back,” Nate says. “Actually, I guess I should just tell them myself, it’s not like you’re gonna see them any sooner than I will.” 

“And they’re your team as much as they are mine, now,” Mikey says. 

“Yeah,” Nate says, and he sounds off, for a second, but next time he speaks, it’s cheerful as anything. “Well, we have this team now.” 

It occurs to Mikey that this is not how he pictured the start of their pro careers together, back on draft day, when Nate had seemed inevitable and the Devils had seemed like a dream come true.

“For a few weeks,” Mikey says. “Then it’s the offseason, and who knows about next fall.” 

Nate deflates at that, and Mikey feels bad, but he tells himself it was the right thing to say. 

He can’t afford optimism right now, probably. 

…… 

_ november  _

Here’s the thing about injuries: when you’re hurt, you can’t play, and when you don’t play, you get worse. 

Here’s the thing no one warned Mikey about: feeling everything you worked for slip away from you can leave you powerless, and Mikey is really, really bad at feeling powerless, and everyone keeps telling him to just be patient and power through, but for the first time in his life, Mikey feels like he’s being punished at every turn. 

It’s suffocating, a little bit; it feels like the universe telling Mikey he’d pushed his luck for too long, and so this is the price of asking to get drafted to his hometown team, asking to get drafted with his best friend, squeezing his way onto the World Juniors roster to play with his ball hockey buddy, and leading his OHL team to a perfect storybook conference championship ending where he got to hoist a trophy over his head with his favorite person in the world at his side, and even when they lost the championship, it was to someone he respects and loves and who really needed a win. 

So as soon as Nate gets sent to Binghamton and Mikey gets hurt, it becomes clear that what Mikey had pictured as the worst-case scenario is actually going to be the case: Mikey’s gonna be stuck in Mississauga for another year, playing with guys who are still in high school, which made him feel really old last year, and that will probably only get worse this year. At least last year, being sent down had seemed to make sense, but two full OHL seasons as an NHL prospect—it just makes him feel restless. 

And yeah, maybe part of that is because of the other young guys who made the roster, but it sucks seeing them do well and not being able to fight for his place on the team. 

Also: Mikey is hurt, which means he’s in  _ pain.  _ He’s in pain, and he’s in New Jersey, and he misses his family and his friends and his boyfriend and nothing feels  _ right  _ and he feels like everything he misses doesn’t exist anymore. 

So, he breaks up with Nate, because at least it’s something he can  _ do,  _ and he regrets it as soon as it happens, because even if Mikey wants to hurt himself, he never, ever would want to hurt Nate. 

But if he’s a shitty enough person to do that, he probably doesn’t deserve Nate, so. 

……  

_ april _

“You looked more like yourself,” Nate says, mixing wasabi into his soy sauce. “Like, your game. Toward the end of the season.” 

“Yeah, the injury stuff lasted longer than I expected,” Mikey says. 

“Well, you look good now,” Nate says. 

Mikey drops his chopsticks. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.” 

Nate looks at him for a second, and Mikey looks at his food. 

“We’re gonna have to play together,” Nate says. 

“I know, but—dinner?”

“You texted me.”

“Because you offered.”

“Because I  _ miss _ you,” Nate says, and Mikey winces. “No, stop it, I’m allowed to say that.”

“You are, but—” Mikey cuts himself off.

“But it hurts?” Nate says, his voice soft. 

“I mean, yeah,” Mikey says. “Kind of a lot.” 

He doesn’t want to look at Nate, but he can’t really help it, so he does. Nate’s brow is furrowed, and he’s staring at his hands intently, almost determined, like he’s asking them for courage. 

“Why did you do it?” 

Mikey takes a deep breath, in, and then out, and then in and out again. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t.” 

Mikey shakes his head. 

“Mikey,” Nate says, and this time, he doesn’t comment on the way Mikey flinches. “You were fucking miserable.” 

“I’m aware, thanks,” Mikey says. 

“I know, and I was really fucking worried,” Nate says. “And then you dumped me, so I couldn’t even ask if you were okay. I couldn’t even help you.” 

Mikey’s starting to feel kind of nauseous. “You were in Binghamton, I was in New Jersey, and then Missy—”

“Yeah, the distance fucking sucked,” Nate says. 

“And we didn’t make it through,” Mikey says. “I just—things didn’t feel right, anymore.” 

“But now?” Nate says, and he sounds something like hopeful. 

Mikey can’t put either of them through this anymore, but he doesn’t know what that means. 

“I—” he gulps. “I still don’t know.” 

A beat, and then: “That’s not exactly a no, you know.” 

Mikey’s probably the worst person ever. “You didn’t really ask me a yes or no question.” 

“You know what I’m offering,” Nate says. 

“Do I?” 

“Yes,” Nate says. “C’mon, you know I still—” 

“Jesus, Nater,” Mikey says, the nickname slipping out without his permission. “Aren’t you angry? Like, at all?” 

“Not right now,” Nate says, kind of fierce. “You’re here, Mikey, and so am I—” 

“For a few weeks—” 

“And then we have the offseason, and then next season—” 

“We still might be on different teams,” Mikey says. 

“We’ll be in the same system,” Nate counters. “In the same country, both playing pro. It’s different than this year was.” 

“But is it different enough?” Mikey says, and he hates the way his voice feels like it’s on the edge of cracking. “Because I’m honestly not sure.” 

Nate seems to consider that before he speaks. “I think this past season—that’s the worst it’s gonna be.” 

“I was fucked up over it,” Mikey says. “For months.”  

“So was I,” Nate says. 

“I fucked us both up,” Mikey says. “I knew it would only make things worse—” 

“You couldn’t have known that,” Nate says. 

“No, I did,” Mikey says. “I did it because—because I couldn’t stand anything good, because everything was so fucking shitty, so I pushed everyone away—” 

“Exactly,” Nate says. “You pushed  _ everyone  _ away.”

“But you should’ve been the exception, and—and what does that even mean, ‘exactly’? What does that prove?” 

“That you were going through a lot of shit, and it sucks that our relationship got caught up in that, but I’m just telling you, I’m still here,” Nate says. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Mikey looks at him, kind of incredulous. “Is that, like, healthy?” 

“I have no clue,” Nate says, unwavering. 

“You realize you deserve better than I gave you, right?” Mikey says. “My life was shit, but I still knew what I was doing.” 

“And you feel terrible about it,” Nate says. “And what I deserve is up to me, not you.”

Which might be true, but still. “I’m sorry,” Mikey says. “For putting you through that.” 

“Thanks,” Nate says. “And I’m sorry for all the crap you were dealing with.” Mikey starts to respond, but Nate puts a hand up. “Don’t do that annoying denial thing, you can fuck up and still be fucked up.” 

Mikey reluctantly accepts that. “It’s going better now.” 

“I heard,” Nate says. 

“What, you keep tabs on me, Bastian?” Mikey says, the corners of his lips tugging up a little. 

“Shut up and eat your avocado roll,” Nate says, rolling his eyes, but it’s fond, in a familiar kind of way that doesn’t feel as weird as Mikey thinks it should. “I can’t believe you didn’t even order fish.” 

“I thought about it,” Mikey says. “Felt wrong, though. Like cannibalism.” 

“Your logic is strange,” Nate says. 

“That’s a weird way of saying it’s impeccable and airtight,” Mikey says, and when Nate throws his chopstick wrapper at him, he grins, and it doesn’t hurt at all, for the first time in a while. 

……

_ march  _

Somehow, the Steelheads make it into the playoffs. 

Mikey hadn’t been expecting it, but then again, he hadn’t expected anything about this season to go the way it has so far. 

And like, Mikey doesn’t really care about the OHL playoffs the way he once did, but it’s kind of like how winning gold had felt—it’s  _ nice. _ Better than nice, really. Definitely better than Mikey expected it to feel. 

Maybe this team doesn’t feel like it’s his anymore, but goddamn if he’s not a big part of it, and he still loves them. It’s Ryan’s draft year, and Mikey’s clung to that as his reason to try to play the best hockey possible this season, and Nic and Owen have spent months picking up Mikey’s slack in the leadership department, so he’s happy they get the postseason as a reward. 

Mikey’s lost a lot of his conditioning, and he’s been working hard to rediscover his speed and his hands and the other things that made his play worthy of being drafted in the first round, and suddenly, it feels like those things are returning to him. Maybe they’re not back fully, but he thinks they will be, and after months and months of worrying that he’s been having things handed to him because of the player he once was, he’s starting to feel like he’s gonna be that player again someday.

The talent probably never really left him, but the discouragement is lifted off his shoulders, and he feels lighter than he has in months.  

…… 

_ april  _

Mikey’s in his hotel room, trying to work through all sorts of feelings he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in ages, when Ryan calls. 

“Dude, you had dinner with Nate?” he says, in lieu of hello. 

“I also had a safe flight, Binghamton is fine, thanks for asking,” Mikey says, rolling his eyes. “And how do you know about that, anyway?” 

“Nate told me,” Ryan says. “Also, I tried to talk him out of meeting you at the airport, for the record.” 

“I didn’t know you guys still talked,” Mikey says, feeling weirdly relieved at that. Like, at least his bullshit hadn’t ruined that friendship, though, looking back, that should have been obvious. Ryan’s pretty good at protecting himself. 

“Well, we do,” Ryan says. “Are you guys gonna get back together?” 

“I—” Mikey starts, and then he cuts himself off, unsure what to say to that. 

After a beat, Ryan seems to realize Mikey’s not gonna answer. “Okay, well, do you want to get back together?” 

“It’s complicated,” Mikey says. 

“Not really,” Ryan says. “Like, just—you miss him, right?” 

“Yeah,” Mikey says. “A lot.” 

“And you’re not over him?” 

“Of course not.” 

“So you want to,” Ryan says. 

“But it’s not—I really fucked up, Ry,” Mikey says. “Like, more than you know.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Ryan says dryly. “I put my phone number in your contact when he was home for the All-Star break. He left a lot of angry voicemails.” 

“What?” Mikey says. 

“Yeah, after that party,” Ryan says. “I mean, he caught on after a week, but I got the gist of it.” 

“What did he say?” 

Ryan’s quiet for a second. “As far as he knows, I never listened to them.”

“But you did,” Mikey says. “That’s fucked up, Ry.” 

“Well, you still weren’t really telling me things, and I was worried about you. Both of you,” Ryan says. 

“I’m sorry,” Mikey says, that same familiar guilt settling in his stomach. 

“You weren’t talking to anyone, it’s fine,” Ryan says. “I got more out of you than anyone else.” 

“Why isn’t anyone mad at me for making them worry?”

“Because we’re just happy to have you back,” Ryan says. “We’re fine worrying about you, Mikey. You needed to be worried about.” 

“I just—I didn’t care about anything. For  _ months.”  _

“Yeah, and you did your best to start caring again,” Ryan says. 

“But what if it happens again?” Mikey says. “I don’t—I didn’t feel like myself.” 

“Well,” Ryan says. “There are… doctors, for this kind of thing. If it gets that bad again, or even if you’re worried it might.” 

“Doctors?” 

“Like—therapists.” 

“Oh,” Mikey says, a little caught off-guard. “Do you… was it that kind of thing, do you think?” 

“I don’t know, but a therapist probably would,” Ryan says. 

“Fair enough,” Mikey says. “That’s—huh. Whoa.” 

“Dude, you just said you weren’t yourself.” 

“Is that something people see therapists about?” Mikey asks. 

“Probably,” Ryan says. “I mean, I’m just saying it’s an option, if you’re worried it’s gonna happen again.”    

“I hope it doesn’t,” Mikey says. 

“So do I,” Ryan says. “But you’re better now, at least.” 

“I am,” Mikey says. “I’m—happier, I guess? Like, not  _ happy _ -happy, because we got knocked out—” 

“But you’re excited to play in Bing,” Ryan says. 

“Yeah,” Mikey says, realizing it as he does. “Yeah, I am.” 

“And you know you can be happy about things,” Ryan says. “And people.” 

“I know,” Mikey says. “I still feel bad. Like, is he really just gonna—take me back? And not blame me for breaking up with him in the first place?” 

“Oh, he blames you plenty,” Ryan says. “I just think he forgives you, too. Staying mad at you is a lot more work than it’s worth.” 

“I don’t feel right about the forgiveness part,” Mikey says. “Like, I kind of apologized? But I want to apologize more.” 

“Then apologize,” Ryan says. “That’s a thing you can do.” 

“Oh,” Mikey says. “Yeah, I guess it is.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Ryan asks, “So, do you know what you’re gonna do?” 

“I think so,” Mikey says. 

“And?”

“And what?” 

“What is it?” Ryan says, a little impatient. 

Let it be known that Mikey really fucking loves his younger brother.

“Do you have Nate’s address?” Mikey says. 

He can practically hear Ryan smiling all the way in Mississauga. “Yeah, I do.” 

…… 

_ august _

“Hey,” Mikey says, “should we, like, talk about what we’re gonna do if we’re apart next season?” 

Nate looks at him, his eyebrows pinching at the center. “Like, what, would you wanna… break up, or something?” 

“What?” Mikey says, his eyes going wide. “No, god, no.” 

“Good,” Nate says, his face relaxing pretty much immediately. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m not gonna stop loving you any time soon.” 

Mikey gives him an easy, lopsided grin. “Same here.” 

……

_ april  _

Romantic gestures on the fly aren’t easy, but Mikey’s pretty good at winging it. 

Thankfully, Binghamton is a pretty big city, so it has a few necessities, including a 24-hour CVS, which is good, because many facets of Mikey’s life revolve around having one of those at his disposal. 

24-hour drugstores are a very important universal constant, Mikey thinks, and when combined with a rideshare service and, like, the power of love, he feels like he can do pretty much anything. 

The selection of heart-shaped candy boxes at this time of year is definitely slim, but there are a few passably nice ones—probably for year-round romance needs, much like this one—and they’re plain milk chocolate too, which is good, because that’s Nate’s second-favorite flavor, or at least it was as of last October. Mikey also grabs a substantially less fancy package of Reese’s, which is Nate’s first favorite flavor, because he figures the more chocolate, the better, and then, just for the hell of it, he decides to get extras of each of those, at which point, he realizes he’s probably gonna need a basket. 

Once he gets one of those, he may or may not ravage the entire candy aisle for any candy he can remember Nate enjoying in the time they’ve been friends. 

He also may or may not have to grab an extra basket. 

Go big or go home, he figures. Plus, this is where he’s gonna be living for the next few weeks, and maybe even next season, so he might as well make an accurate first impression at his local late-night drugstore. 

And he’s not even done.

Hallmark cards are kind of a blessing and a curse, because they exist for specific events, and none of those specific events are exactly “I’m sorry” or “I love you,” but they make some vague cards that carry only those words. Mikey grabs every single one he can find, then finds a pen, sits on the ugly blue carpeting, and writes “I love you” on every card that says “I’m sorry,” and “I’m sorry” on every card that says “I love you.” 

Then, he buys a random “Happy 50th birthday!” card that sings when you open it, in case the mood needs to be lightened.

The whole thing, according to the remarkably unsurprised cashier, costs him over a hundred dollars, and even taking into consideration the cost of Ubering around Binghamton, Mikey can’t bring himself to regret a cent of it. 

So it’s sooner rather than later that he finds himself standing in front of Nate’s apartment building, carrying three very heavy bags and staring nervously at his name on the buzzer, and in the end, it’s fear of standing outside in the dark in an unfamiliar city that finally motivates him to ring it. 

“Hello?” a tinny version of Nate’s voice says through the intercom.

“Hi,” Mikey says. “It’s me.” 

“It’s who?” Nate says. 

“Me,” he repeats. “Mikey.” 

“Oh,” Nate’s voice says, too distorted for Mikey to discern any emotion from it, but he buzzes Mikey in anyway, which Mikey takes to be a promising sign. 

Nate’s apartment is on the second floor, and his door is already open when Mikey gets there, and he thinks about taking the time to, like, organize his crap, but then Nate appears in the door, looking uncertain, and Mikey is suddenly aware of how fast his heart is beating, and stays, kind of frozen in place, staring at Nate’s face and trying to find hope in it. 

Until one of the CVS bags breaks, and its contents spill all over the floor of the hallway. 

“Shit, sorry,” Mikey says, bending down to gather everything up, and Nate comes over to help him. “I knew I should’ve double bagged.” 

“You’re good,” Nate says. “I don’t think any of these got bent.” 

Mikey looks up to find Nate holding out the stack of cards, all tucked neatly in their envelopes. 

“Oh, sweet,” Mikey says. “Those are, uh, for you, by the way.” 

“All of them?”

“Yeah,” Mikey says. “All of this is, actually.” 

Nate picks up a pack of M&M’s. “Was there a sale, or something?”

“Probably,” Mikey says.

“You know you can buy candy for yourself, right?” Nate says. “No one’s gonna stop you.” 

“That’s not why I bought you candy,” Mikey says. 

“Is it because you don’t have space to store it in your hotel room?” Nate says. “Because you can just stick things in the minifridge—” 

“I know how hotels work, Nate,” Mikey says. 

“Just checking,” Nate says. “Because I know you like frozen Snickers.” 

Mikey has to stop himself from reaching out to grab Nate’s hand. “Just—go inside, read the cards, I’ll finish cleaning this up.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Mikey says. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay,” Nate says, getting up. “Did you seal these?” 

“If you want, I can open them for you,” Mikey says. 

“No, it’s okay,” Nate says, already working his thumb under one of the flaps and making his way inside. 

It takes Mikey a few trips to carry everything inside, and as he unloads candy onto the kitchen counter, Nate sits at the table, reading the cards closely. It’s not like there’s much to read on them, and they all say the same thing, but Nate opens each one like he’s expecting it to be the one that breaks the pattern, that says something else. 

Maybe he’s looking for something more. 

Mikey gets that. There’s a lot of stuff they should talk about, stuff that probably can’t fit on a Hallmark card, but the things he’s reading are also important.   

Finally, he puts down the last one, tucks it back into its envelope, and sets it on the pile with the rest of them. 

Mikey waits to see if he’s gonna say anything, but he doesn’t. 

“So,” Mikey says. “I know I apologized earlier, but—I’m still sorry. And I’m gonna keep apologizing, because I don’t care if you forgive me, I just—I don’t feel okay about what I did.”

“As a boyfriend, or a best friend?” Nate says. 

“Fuck, I don’t know,” Mikey says. “Both. As your… Superbuddy, maybe.” Nate cracks a smile at the nickname, but he doesn’t look up from the pile of opened envelopes. “And just—as a person. I hurt you. That’s just—it’s fucked.” 

“You didn’t do it just because you wanted to hurt me,” Nate says. 

“Well—I don’t know why I did it,” Mikey says. “Clearly I wasn’t thinking straight, but I also—I didn’t feel like the guy you signed up to have as a best friend, or a boyfriend, or just, like, in your life. I felt like I was cheating you out of something, and you were too nice to break things off, even though you deserved better.” 

“Mikey,” Nate says, his voice breaking a little. 

“I’m not saying I was right,” Mikey says. 

“No, I know, but—that’s so sad,” Nate says. “I signed up for you, even when you’re not… you.” 

“I know,” Mikey says. 

“I didn’t just forget about you,” Nate says. “I still—I never stopped caring.”

“Thanks for keeping up with Ryan, by the way,” Mikey says. “I was kind of a shit older brother for a while.” 

“Ryan’s not that young anymore,” Nate says. 

“I guess so.”

“Plus, he has Matt, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the ball hockey crowd,” Nate says. “He’s pretty well-off in the big brother department.” 

“I know,” Mikey says. “He’s a really great kid.”  

Nate nods, and then he takes a deep breath. “So, uh, about the other thing you said.” 

“What other thing I said?” 

“In the cards,” Nate says. 

Mikey blinks. “That I love you?” 

“Yeah,” Nate says. “That.” 

“What about it?” 

“I just—I don’t know,” Nate says. “I was surprised, I guess.” 

Mikey furrows his brow. “Of course I love you,” he says. “That’s never even been a question.” 

Nate’s face does something Mikey can’t really interpret, before he finally says, “Oh,” and his voice sounds weird. 

“Yeah, that was kind of the point of this whole—” Mikey waves a hand. “Y’know, the romantic gesture thing.” 

“Romantic—” Nate says, and then his eyes flicker over to the candy, and then to Mikey’s face. “Wait, is that what the chocolate was about?” 

“It was,” Mikey confirms. “It probably would’ve been clearer if the bag hadn’t broken.”

Nate just stares at him. 

“So, uh,” Mikey says, once the silence officially turns awkward, “whatever you decide is cool, obviously, but—feel free to kick me out, or kiss me, or, like, whatever.” 

There’s another second of staring, and Mikey’s about to start rambling awkwardly, but then Nate’s standing up, and then he’s walking over to him, and then he’s wrapping his arms around him, warm and tight and strong and everything Mikey could ever hope for.

“Oh my god, you’re such a dork,” Nate says, his voice right in Mikey’s ear. “You seriously did not have to do that.” 

“I was inspired,” Mikey says. 

“Of course you were,” Nate says. “Holy fuck, I love you so much.” 

“Same,” Mikey laughs. 

“I know, I read the cards,” Nate says. “That was me saying it back.”

Mikey reluctantly pulls his face out of the fabric of Nate’s shirt. “I understand if you wanna take things slow, but—” 

“I don’t,” Nate says. 

“Are you sure?” Mikey says. “Because I’m here to stay. You don’t have to make this easy for me, I’m yours.” 

“I’m making it easy for myself,” Nate says. “I trust you, man.” 

“Okay, but you realize you shouldn’t, right?” 

“Oh, for sure,” Nate says. “This is a very informed decision, I promise.” 

“How informed?” 

“Ryan weighed in.” 

“Like, my Ryan?” 

“Yes,” Nate says. “Before it was a possibility, but—listen. Just because things got bad—we don’t need to punish ourselves over it, y’know?”

“But they got really bad,” Mikey says. 

“So we’ll know to do better next time,” Nate says, and then he runs a hand through Mikey’s hair. “We loved each other through the bad parts, dude.” 

“What if that just means we’re shit at getting over each other?” 

“Maybe,” Nate says, but then he shrugs. “I don’t know if it matters.”

“Fine, but if you start to develop trust issues in, like, two weeks, tell me,” Mikey says.  “We’ll both be more honest about our feelings this time, it’ll be lit.” 

“Of course,” Nate says. “The good feelings too, though.” 

“Deal,” Mikey says, grinning up at Nate. “If we’re being honest, I’m feeling pretty good right now.” 

“Same here,” Nate says. “I just got my boyfriend back. I’m pretty sure there’s no one in all of New York who’s feeling better than I am.” 

“I think your boyfriend would disagree with that,” Mikey says, and then, because it’s been way too long, he pulls Nate in for a kiss. 

Even after all these months, Nate’s mouth feels exactly the same. 

**Author's Note:**

> detailed warnings:  
> -explicit description of a panic attack at the section starting with “There’s no real reason…” and ending with “...the air is going in and out of his lungs easier,” an abundance of self-loathing and guilt, mentions of nausea/feeling nauseous  
> -mentions of dylan strome with a brief mcstrome shoutout, background ryan mcleod/matthew strome
> 
> (ryan has nate's address because judi wanted to send nate a care package in binghamton, but he and mikey were broken up, so she had ryan ask instead)
> 
> anyway i hope this made anyone who is going through/has gone through a depressive episode feel a little better. i see lots of stories about depressed characters end right when the character is starting to function again, but i don't see that many stories about depressed characters who are in a better place and have to deal with fallout from the mistakes they made when the were in their darkest times. also my entire fall was pretty much the worst depressive episode of my entire life, and i made some pretty awful choices and avoided some even worse ones. it's hard to figure out fault and blame and forgiveness and who deserves what when all you can really remember is a spiral of sad. BUT: i'm happy and hopeful about the future now (okay not like. the *future* but i'm graduating college soon and love my friends) and i feel like, while it is important to not make it seem like chronic mental illness can be "cured," the good times /can/ feel good. depressed people can feel exuberant joy and overwhelming gratitude. it's definitely something i've learned from my friends (specifically fandom friends) struggling with mental illness. it's not easy, but sometimes, our stories have happy endings. 
> 
> anyway. uh. sorry-not-sorry for oversharing? (did i really overshare idk) i have a lot of thoughts about mental illness and a lot of love to share with y'all so lmk if you need some encouragement or want to talk about this story. this is very personal (lmao clearly) but i hope that makes it seem more honest. 
> 
> I'm lottswrites on tumblr and lottslottslotts on twitter <3


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